Out of the Darkness (4 page)

Lione's lips thinned into a death's-head smile.

"You could, of course, take a more aggressive stance," he acknowledged. "Try to rally the Alliance against us. Endeavor to prove your case. Anger a good number of people; upset a number of agreements that are understood amidst more people than you would truly believe possible. You could do all that. I have to admit I would not advise it. But it is a way you might go."

Vidkun found the nerve to speak. "And if I indicate that is what I am going to do ... then I, too, would suffer an accident."

Slowly Lione shook his head. "That would be a foolish position for me to take. You could agree to anything I say ... then once you are off-world, safely beyond concerns for your own life and limb, you might say and do anything you wish. Threats are extremely unreliable. What I am endeavoring to point out is that cooperation is far more to your advantage. It will benefit you. It will serve your needs. You do have needs, I assume. You are still quite young. There are things you want to accomplish, goals you wish to achieve. A quiet understanding will get a great deal that rabble-rousing and accusations will not."

"And in the meantime, you will attack more worlds, as you did Mipas..."

"Mipas was a threat. If you believe nothing else I tell you, believe that. We acted in self-defense, nothing more. You seem a reasonable person. How can any reasonable person condemn us for that? That is indeed the entire point of the barter system which Luddig so deftly oversaw. The moneys paid are an act of good faith. We do not ask for it; it is offered freely. Even if we were not paid, we would still not attack. Assorted worlds have these arrangements with us at their behest, not ours. They misunderstand the Centauri mind-set. We are not out to destroy others, no. No, not at all. Our intention is simply to make certain that no one ever attacks us again. We are not bullies. We just desire to show that we are strong. You do see the difference, do you not?"

"Yes. Yes, I do," Vidkun said slowly.

"That is good to know, considering that Luddig apparently did not see the difference. We do not take well to threats. But cooperation ... that is different. And there are many who are most anxious to cooperate with Centauri Prime." He sat forward and, in doing so, almost seemed capable of bending from the hip and leaning over the entire desk. "I am hoping... that you are one of those. For your sake. For ours. For the sake of the continued interests of the Drazi Homeworld. To all of that, Vidkun ... I'm sorry... acting Ambassador Vidkun ... you hold the key."

Vidkun nodded slowly in acknowledgment.

"The prime minister would still like to meet with you tomorrow," Lione told him. "Are you amenable to that?"

Once more Vidkun nodded. He thought about Luddig, beaten to death by the crowd. And he thought about the contempt with which Luddig had addressed him, the way that Luddig had made him feel.

"I believe I am," Vidkun said. "And I believe ... I should inform my government of the tragic circumstance that led to Luddig's passing. It is ... commendable how quickly you were able to dispose of his assailant."

Lione inclined his head in acknowledgment of the compliment. "We of Centauri Prime are only concerned with doing what is right."

C
HAPTER 2

Twenty years...

Delenn was very likely as aware of the passage of time as any other person alive. Always in the back of her mind lurked the knowledge that her beloved husband, her soul mate, John Sheridan, the man who had virtually reconfigured the way of the galaxy, had only twenty years to live. That had been the price of survival on Z'ha'dum. If she could go back in time, if she could prevent any one moment, it would be that one. An impressive priority, considering some of the horrific things she had witnessed in her time, some of the disasters that had occurred to those whom she loved.

Twenty years to live...

The enigmatic being named Lorien had brought John Sheridan back from the dead through means Delenn had never fully understood. What she had understood, though, was that the "fix" was only temporary. That after a mere two decades, Sheridan would simply shut off, like a light.

Twenty years to live...

That's what she'd been told...

... fourteen years earlier.

Once upon a time, she had been able to put such considerations out of her mind, sometimes for days on end. Lately, though, not a day – sometimes, it seemed, not an hour – passed without her dwelling on it.

Despite her closeness with her husband, though, despite the deep bond they shared, she was able to keep her concerns from him. Occasionally he would notice that she seemed preoccupied, and would remark upon it. She would easily deflect his comments by saying that she was thinking about David, their son. At twelve years of age, he was growing into something that was an impressive combination of mother and father. Remarkably, David seemed to possess elements of both their personalities. He was fully capable of being a young hellion, tearing about their home on Minbar with a definitely Human enthusiasm and abandon, much to the chagrin of his mother, the amusement of his father, and the utter frustration of his teachers.

On the other hand, when faced with studies, David consistently rose to the occasion with such facility that his teachers wondered just how much he could accomplish if he applied himself fully.

Outwardly he appeared Human. The color of his hair had shifted over time. He had gone from being towheaded to dark-haired, and he tended to wear it long. This annoyed his father, whose old military instincts kicked in. Every so often, he would extol the virtues of a short haircut, but David seemed to pay such critiques no mind. Curiously, his eyebrows retained their light color, but the dark eyes beneath remained evocative of his mother.

He did, however, possess his father's charisma. That much was unmistakable. Nor was his charisma limited to its effects on Humans; Minbari women – grown women – would do double takes when he passed, looking him up and down appreciatively while he winked at them or came up with some bon mot that always prompted gentle laughter or looks of amusement.

This tendency was something that drove his mother to distraction ... particularly when David's father would watch such exhibitions and grin approvingly. Only when he noticed Delenn's silently annoyed gaze did John Sheridan quickly try to cover his paternally proud smile.

Six years to live...

That thought would come to her at times such as now, when Sheridan was openly agitated about something. She desperately wished that he would set aside his burden as president of the Alliance. She had pointed out on any number of occasions that "president" was an elected office, for a particular term, and that it might not be a bad idea if Sheridan considered pushing more strongly for an open election, to find a replacement. Sheridan did consider it, but every time he tried to follow through, the other member races saw it as some sort of desire on his part for a vote of confidence. Naturally they gave him that vote with gusto and enthusiasm, and inevitably some other disaster would occur that would keep John Sheridan firmly in office.

It was as if the Fates themselves were conspiring against them, making sure that they would never know a time of peace.

Six more years to live...

At night in their bed she would whisper to him, "Let's run away," and some nights he would actually seem to reflect on it. In the dead of night, he would speak of laying down his burden, of spending his remaining years in peace. And then the dawn would come, and the John Sheridan of the nighttime would disappear, replaced by John Sheridan, man of responsibility. Consequently, it pained her when so much as an hour, even a minute of his day caused him aggravation. But she had no control over it. All she could do was sympathize and be there for him, for counsel, for support... for sanity.

This was one of those times.

"They're idiots!" Sheridan raged.

They were in his office, except he wasn't in it so much as stalking it, like a caged animal. With them were the only two individuals in the entire galaxy he appeared to trust completely: Michael Garibaldi and Citizen G'Kar of Narn.

Neither of them truly worked for Sheridan. Once upon a time, Garibaldi had been Sheridan's chief of security. Those days were long past, and his responsibilities as a businessman occupied much of his time. His latest journey to Minbar was actually more of a stopover on his way to some other appointment. From the look on his face, Delenn suspected that he might very well be wondering whether the impromptu visit had been such a good idea.

G'Kar was another story altogether.

It was hard to believe that the tall, proud Narn had once been someone so insolent, so bellicose, that Delenn had literally had to bend him to her will via gravity rings. Since that time, G'Kar had become – there was no other way for her to say it – a creature of destiny. It was as if he knew that he had an important part to play in the grand scheme of things, and he was serenely and securely accepting of that role. Delenn couldn't help but suppose that it did, in fact, show some consistency. If G'Kar was an enemy, he was implacable. If, however, he was an ally, there was none more devoted.

On one occasion, Sheridan had referred to G'Kar as "the king's hand." This was a reference that completely eluded Delenn, and she had said as much.

"Ancient kings had men known as their 'hands,'" Sheridan had explained to her. "They would go out into the field and do the dirty work. The things that the king could not, or would not, get involved in. The hand was the most trustworthy and dependable of the knights."

"That is interesting to know, Your Highness," Delenn had said with open amusement, and bowed deeply. Sheridan had rolled his eyes, wondered out loud why he ever bothered to tell her anything, and taken the gentle ribbing in stride.

He wasn't in stride at the moment, though. His frustration had reached a boiling point and nothing that either G'Kar or Garibaldi could say would calm him. Wisely, then, they chose to say nothing, and instead allowed Sheridan to vent.

And vent he did, his neatly trimmed grey beard bristling as if it had a life of its own.

"I thought this was going to be it. This was going to be the one. Was there any planet more benign, less threatening, than Mipas?" He didn't give them time to answer. Instead he started ticking off responses on his fingers. "Bricarn 9. Shandukan. Harper's World. The list goes on and on! All helpless. All useful to the Centauri war machine, either for positioning, or raw materials, or even just sending a message to the Alliance that the Centauri are a force to be reckoned with. A message that the Centauri themselves thrive upon, becoming bolder with each unanswered strike! But every damned world they go after is a border world, far out at the edge of their interests, and making no move against the Centauri!"

"They're quite carefully selected, for maximum impact with minimal risk," G'Kar squeezed in, as an opinion.

Sheridan nodded vehemently. "Exactly. And the risk remains minimal because certain factions in the Alliance keep refusing to go up against the Centauri! Every time the Centauri take an aggressive action and succeed with impunity, they're that much more emboldened to keep to their course! A course that, over the past year, has brought us closer and closer to a costly, full-blown war!"

"'Cost' probably has a good deal to do with it," a grim Garibaldi commented. "Not that I can prove it, you understand, but I suspect there's some serious greasing of palms going on."

"There are many who are happy to overlook long-term ramifications in return for short-term profits," G'Kar said. "It's been a pattern throughout history."

"Is that how it works, then?" demanded Sheridan. "Throughout history, the strong allow the weak to suffer so that they can obtain selfish goals?"

"Of course," G'Kar said reasonably. "Where have you been hiding?"

"That was the past," Sheridan insisted. "We're supposed to have advanced. We're supposed to have learned. Learned that you cannot allow thugs and monsters to have their way." He stopped at the window and gazed out as if he were trying to look past the Minbari horizon. As if he could spot Centauri vessels cruising around in the depths of space, looking for new prey. He shook his head, and when he spoke again he sounded discouraged and frustrated. "You would think that if we'd learned anything from the Shadow War, it was that even the most benevolent of races can become despotic, if they're allowed to exercise their might unchecked. Yet here we are again, facing an enemy who is building up strength, weaponry, and confidence, and the pacifists in the Alliance would have us do nothing."

"They don't think it affects them directly," Delenn finally spoke up. "The problem, John, is that your efforts with the Alliance have been too successful in other areas. Through the treaties you've overseen, the crackdowns on trade piracy, the assorted economic models you've introduced ... through all of that and more, you've helped bring about an unprecedented sense of prosperity and economic stability throughout the system. When people are satisfied with their financial situation, when they want for nothing ... it is difficult to get them to leave their comfortable homes and hurl themselves into the depths of space to fight wars. They have so much, they are not willing to risk losing it."

"If they can't get off their asses to fight the Centauri, they're sure as hell going to lose it," Sheridan said flatly. He leaned against his desk and shook his head, looking more discouraged and frustrated than Delenn could recall seeing him in years. "They keep being 'encouraged' to look the other way. They believe that if they simply let Centauri Prime take this world or that world, that it will be enough to placate them. They think things are going to settle down. They don't understand that it isn't going to happen unless we make things settle down ... and that won't happen for as long as the Centauri think that they can walk all over us!"

Six more years. And this sort of irritation was all he had to look forward to, day in, day out? Delenn could not recall a time when she more despised Londo Mollari.